


For the Want of Coin

by viatorix



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 13:57:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3252329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viatorix/pseuds/viatorix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Samson is determined to ensure the occurrence of something that has been years in the making.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the Want of Coin

**Author's Note:**

> For the Kink meme prompt: any/any, sneaking around/secrets.

As Samson pulled himself up to another broken stone, he once again asked himself why the fuck he was doing this. 

It wasn’t a particularly cloudy night, in fact an innumerable amount of stars lit the inky sky above. The moon cast a long silvery light that washed over the walls of Skyhold, pooling in the muddy training field, and making razor sharp edges out of the broken bricks that had still yet to be fixed, almost a year after the Inquisition had settled in the fort. Samson couldn’t be ungrateful, however, as he benefited from the cracked stone that provided him with hand and footholds, as he scaled one of the gateway towers. That didn’t mean it was easy though. The light of the moon was useless to him, dangerous even, and he took precautions to stay out of its glow, sticking to the almost pitch black tower face. It wouldn’t do him any favours if the night watch caught him trying to sneak into the bedroom of the Inquisition’s Commander; he’d be back in a cell faster than you could say ‘traitor.’ Explaining to the Inquisitor that, no, Samson wasn’t trying to kill her Commander in his sleep, he actually just wanted to fuck his lover, would no doubt be an awkward conversation for all parties involved. 

The Ex-General smoothed his fingers upward, trying to find another handhold. The grit held a moment, before crumbling in his hand, sending a shower of ancient mortar onto the overhang below. Samson flinched and cursed at the clacking rubble. Hopefully no one heard that. 

He was doing this for a good reason, he told himself as he found a more sustainable hollow. It had been months since Cullen had kissed him in the heat of the moment amongst maps of Red Templar troop movements. It had been a welcome surprise for both of them, but Samson had been adamant to pursue the Commander as he, in a fit of conscience, had tried to pull away and remain embarrassingly professional. Samson was having none of it. He pushed, and eventually Cullen had relented, stealing more kisses than he received. Then again, he had always pegged Cullen for an affectionate romantic. Samson’s needs, however, were a bit more… primal. They had tried, of course, but finding even a little time alone together had been damn near impossible. Everybody wanted to Cullen’s attention, and the Inquisitor was also wary to leave Cullen alone with him, no matter how much the Commander insisted he could handle Samson. Oh, he could, could he? They’d see about that. If Samson could get to the top of this damn wall, that was. 

Lack of privacy had meant lack of, well, almost anything. He had managed to give Cullen a subtle wank under his desk as they looked at reports, but the sudden arrival of one of Nightingale’s agents so soon after he came, had the man spooked for a good while. Cullen had only managed to return the favour with a hasty handjob two weeks later when they realised they were finally alone together in the stables. No more. Samson would have time with Cullen, even if it meant sneaking out of his quarters on the other side of the castle in the dark, and scaling the wall of a tower to do so. No one could say he wasn’t dedicated.

The lip of the ruined wall, where it had caved in and exposed the rafters, was just ahead. Vines had rooted themselves into the mortar here, making Samson pause, but he quickly found that the plant was entrenched deep enough that he could hang onto the cordon and use it to pull himself up the rest of the way. Cullen’s room was mostly dark when Samson peeked over the lip. A few strands of moonlight cut through the rafters, illuminating the decrepit floorboards, as well as a few of the Commander’s personal items and the sheets crumpled at the foot of the bed, where they had been kicked off in a fitful slumber. He could just barely make out the man himself; laying on his belly, a low murmur of gibberish spilling from his lips as he twitched every so often. Ah, the dreams again. 

Samson climbed over as quietly as he could, using the vines that smothered the other side of the wall to slide down, though the wood groaned as his boots touched the floor. He crept over soundlessly, trying to both remove his clothes, and dodge the loose floorboards that would creak and surely wake the man from his sleep. He could begin to make out words as he came closer to Cullen, and felt a sting of anger at what he heard. ‘No,’ ‘please don’t,’ ‘leave me,’ whispers so familiar to Samson, that for a moment it was almost as if the last decade never happened, and he was in that little barrack room they shared all those years ago. 

When the nights had gotten particularly hot, and Samson couldn’t sleep, he would listen to the pleading of the Templar, barely a man then, in the cot beside his own, fighting the echos of the demons that remained in his head. When Cullen would stiffen, his own cry waking him from the nightmare and shivering in his sweat, Samson would silently pass over a glass of water. Cullen would croak out his thanks, and that would be the end of it. Samson never said the words he thought about saying. Never climbed into Cullen’s bed to tuck the man into his side, and take all the shuddering gasps onto himself. No matter how many times his hand strayed towards Cullen’s wrist, he always pulled back at the last second, too confused or afraid to act on the things he felt. Sometimes he liked to think that if he had done so, things wouldn’t have turned out the way they did. Perhaps he would have never passed on that letter. Perhaps when Cullen left for Haven, he would have followed. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. His father used to say that.

Samson sat on the edge of the bed, fully stripped of his clothes. When he stroked gentle fingers through Cullen’s hair, the man gave a small jolt, stilling as his body tensed with awareness. 

“It’s me,” Samson rasped, sliding onto the mattress next to the waking Commander.

“Samson?” Cullen asked blinking, his eyes cumbered with gluey sleep. “What are you—how did you get up here? I thought I locked the doors.” He did, which was why Samson was forced to climb the fucking wall.

“You have a convenient hole in your roof that I decided to use. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Did anyone see you?” Ah, Cullen, ever the careful one. Samson was surprised he hadn’t keeled over from an aneurism due to all the rules they probably were breaking by being together (were they though? Samson wasn’t sure he knew). 

“Don’t think so. The whole of Skyhold probably would have known about it pretty fast, if I had,” he replied. Before Cullen could protest any further, Samson dived into a hot kiss, nibbling at his bottom lip before sinking his tongue in to plunder the pliant mouth when Cullen melted against him. He could feel Cullen’s little hums of pleasure vibrate through his teeth as he returned Samson’s kiss with full force. Maker damn him if he did not make the most of this. 

Samson wrapped an arm around Cullen’s waist and pulled at his cotton breeches, until the man was straddling his hips, as naked as he was.

“I want to have you,” he said, as he peppered kisses along his jaw and the delicate skin of his neck. Cullen leaned into his touch, arching against him as he threaded his fingers through Samson’s hair, stroking the downy strands at the base of his skull. 

“Maker’s breath, Samson. _Yes_ ,” Cullen whispered. He ground his hips down, and Samson could feel the man’s half-hard length dig into the skin of Samson’s hip; his own erection sat swollen and heavy against the curve of Cullen’s ass. Andraste’s mercy. The Red Templar had to breathe steadily through his nose, if he didn’t want to come from the slow, languid grinding of the man seated on his lap. Samson grasped his hips to still them, squinting in the direction of the little side table for anything that could be used to ease the passage. 

Following his line of sight, Cullen leaned heavily over the man below to blindly grab at a glass pot that sat on the surface. “Lamp oil,” he explained at Samson’s questioning stare. He tapped Samson’s thighs, urging him to spread them a little wider, and leaned back, lathering some of the slick on his fingers. 

Samson watched as the man above him turned those fingers on himself, his brow creasing as he slid the first finger in.

“You’ve done this before?” Samson asked, a little perplexed as he supported Cullen’s waist so that he could freely push another digit in to pump and scissor his entrance.

“No, I--” Cullen paused as his voice hitched and broke, “I’ve been practicing,” he finished with a growl, pressing his forehead to Samson’s.

Andraste’s sweet _tits_. Samson felt like he had been punched in the gut. 

The image of Cullen laying back on his bed legs spread wide as he frantically thrust his digits in and out while thinking of Samson, left the man breathless and his cock aching. He flicked Cullen’s fingers aside, quickly coating his cock with the forgotten vial of oil. Cullen was leaning back against Samson’s knees, his chest rapidly rising and falling in anticipation, as Samson spread Cullen’s thighs so his legs bracketed him where he reclined against the creaky headboard. He lined his cock up with one hand, using the other to loop around the Commander’s flank and drag him down. Samson didn’t even need to pull the man toward him that hard. Cullen showed he was more than willing as he slid down, wriggling and grinding until he had fully mounted himself on Samson’s length. 

“Move, Samson.” Samson didn’t even realise he had stopped. The feeling of Cullen around him was overpowering; the soft, almost soundless breathy whimper, the way Cullen had clenched when Samson’s cock was sheathed inside him. He was utterly entranced.

A strong upward thrust caused a choked off cry to erupt from the man above him. Samson began his tempo, clasping the meat of Cullen’s hips in an almost bruising grip as he pumped. The sticky saltiness of the Commander’s sweat was thick on Samson’s tongue as he took a nipple in his mouth and sucked gently on the pink bud. Each flick sent Cullen reeling, his moans growing louder and higher. Samson hissed out his own whimpers of pleasure against Cullen’s skin, the fire in his belly amplifying with each passing moment. 

He stared at Cullen, head thrown back in the moonlight. The muscles of his long, lithe neck looked almost painted in the way they caught the silver-blue glow. _Maker, but he was something_. If Samson was rich, he would commission the finest maestro in Orlais to capture this moment. It felt lesser that he would only be able to contain it in his mind. 

“ _Fuck_ , Cullen. I lo—“Samson bit off the word with a grunt. If Cullen had heard, he gave no indication, far too lost in the motion of Samson’s hips. A spike of self-hatred stirred in his heart as he shook away the thoughts. Don’t be a fool, Samson. You’ve played that part far too many times already.

Cullen braced his hands against the headboard, and ground down in tandem with Samson’s pistoning hips, almost lewd in the way he was practically fucking himself on the rigid shaft. If some of the fine Lords and Ladies that stalked the Great Hall could see the way the Inquisition’s fair and handsome Commander looked as he bounced on the traitor’s cock, Samson was sure many of them would faint dead away. Samson himself was having trouble keeping a level head.

“ _Sam, I’m almost there. Sam, keep going_ ,” Cullen repeated the words like a mantra, calling on Samson to be something he was not. The anger, as much as he wanted it to remain (it would be so much easier if it did) fizzled out, and the Red Templar felt the ashy remains scatter with the breeze that whistled in through the rafters. He was truly lost.

With a show of strength, Samson flipped their position, the mattress bouncing as they landed. He continued his rough thrusting, encouraged by Cullen’s voracious moans and the man’s nails biting into his back. There was most certainly going to be marks there come morning. A tug at his groin let him know he was close, and he wrapped a fist around Cullen’s cock, pumping in rhythm with his hips. Cullen’s moaning cracked with a shudder that vibrated throughout his body. He wrenched his face from its place at Samson’s neck and kissed him, swallowing down Samson’s own groans of pleasure. 

Samson came like that, and Cullen followed not long after, both of their cries muffled by the other’s lips. The Red Templar’s motions became sloppy as the last of his seed filled the man beneath him. He panted into Cullen’s cheek, utterly spent, yet enjoying the silky flutter of the man’s eyelashes against his nose. 

They stayed that way for a while, still joined, and breathing in each other’s scents. Cullen had shoved his nose under Samson’s jaw, panting softly as he pressed the pad of his thumb flush against the corner of Samson’s lip. His rhythmic breathing lulled the Ex-General, and he finally pulled away from Cullen out of fear that he’d fall asleep still sheathed inside him.

“Thanks,” he said, and it was honest, earnest even, though the word felt like cotton in his mouth. The heat that seared his body began to cool in the chilled mountain air. It felt almost luxurious against his skin. Samson could understand why Cullen had stalled in getting his roof repaired. The chill would be almost a blessing when the body was wracked with withdrawal. 

“That was a long time coming,” Cullen replied, and Samson couldn’t tell if he was referring to months or years. A part of him hoped for the later. 

“Well, it was only because of my diligence that it happened at all.”

Cullen huffed a laugh. “Persistence, maybe,” he insisted and Samson conceded with a grunt. Sleep was starting to weigh upon him, but he turned when he felt a hand playing with the strands of hair that feathered over his ear.

Cullen smiled at him, his grin visible by the shine of his teeth. “You realise you’re going to have to sneak back to your quarters before dawn, don’t you?”

Damn it.


End file.
